


and take the love that you deserve

by Moonzari



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Love Never Dies - Lloyd Webber, The Phantom of the Opera (TV 1990)
Genre: Crossover, F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Parallel Universes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 07:07:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29505954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonzari/pseuds/Moonzari
Summary: Going back to Paris to lay Christine and his past to rest, Erik gets a little more than he expected when visiting the catacombs of the opera house.
Relationships: Christine Daaé/Erik | Phantom of the Opera, Gustave Daaé & Erik | Phantom of the Opera
Kudos: 14





	and take the love that you deserve

**Author's Note:**

> LND!Erik meets Cherik in this fic. LND!Erik is just Erik and Cherik is, of course, Cherik. I hope to god it’s not confusing. I haven’t written a Phantom of the Opera fic in fifteen years lmao.

Christine is dead. That is an irrefutable fact.

It has been a few days since it had happened, but Erik still feels numb. Like his entire soul has been ripped from his body. Sometimes he wonders if it was a dream; an awful nightmare. Her blood soaked into his waistcoat is a reminder that it is not, that he held her in his arms as she slipped away again; fully beyond his reach this time.

Raoul and Gustave are still here, still making arrangements for taking Christine’s body back to Paris to bury her in the de Chagny family plot. It feels so cold, so _final_. Because it is.

It was _not_ supposed to be like this.

It had rained the day after she died. Rained so hard that her blood seeping into the wooden slats on the pier was washed away. He went and checked, bereft, like it was all he had left of her. But that wasn’t true.

Gustave was their son. _Their_ son.

The boy was hesitant around him at first, now knowing both truths— about his face and their relationship. Raoul, in his grief, drank to stupor at night and Erik usually had to go collect the boy. He offers him solace, lets the child curl against him, and cry for his mother while his heavy hand strokes his hair. The same color as hers. 

Phantasma goes dark. Madame Giry and Meg have disappeared, and for the better. He thinks he might kill the both of them if he sees them again. Damn all the help they had given him.

Christine’s body is placed in a plain wooden box while arrangements are made, and Erik offers to pay to have her put into the finest casket available. Raoul hesitates before accepting. He and Erik finally have a long talk the evening before Raoul and Gustave are due to set sail back to France. A real heart-to-heart, two men mourning the same woman. Raoul drinks, Erik refuses.

The night ends with a drunken invite back to Paris. Erik hesitates, but he thinks that for the rest of his miserable existence, he will never have closure if he does not go back to see Christine laid to rest.

He agrees, and Raoul stumbles back to his room. Erik again spends the night with Gustave in his quarters, watching over the boy as he sleeps. He is hesitant to return to the city that wanted him dead, but he must go lay his demons to rest beside the love of his life—his very soul.

* * *

The water laps ever so gently at the side of the gondola, and Cherik doesn’t miss it. He has to keep a sharper wit nowadays, now that Christine is here living with him. He cannot risk any _one_ or any _thing_ ruining this small taste of happiness he has found.

For a second he thinks it may be Gerard: he has been coming and going as of late and poking his nose where it doesn’t belong. No one else knows where his home— his _lair_ was situated.

But it’s not Gerard. Cherik knows the cadence of his footsteps on the cobblestone; the way the soles of his shoes sound. No, these shoes sound remarkably more expensive, accompanied by the pitter-patter of smaller steps.

A _child_. There is a child down here. 

Cherik rises from where he was half-lounging, keeping in shadow to see if he can keep his eyes on their guests before they can find him.

“You used to _live_ down here?” Gustave marvels as Erik leads his son through the catacombs beneath the Paris Opera house. “Amazing!”

Raoul was spending the day making the final funeral arrangements, so he figured it would be a good idea to show his progeny where he had come from. This place had been his home for years.

“It’s changed a bit since I was here last,” he mumbles, before Erik stops, holding out a hand to halt Gustave. “Someone’s here.”

His eyes narrow, actually impressed this man found his way _this far_ down here on his own. Which meant he knew what he was doing. Peculiar, he thought, the half-mask on his face. “I mean you no harm,” Cherik says, finally stepping forward from the shadows. “Yet.”

Erik blinked, frowning at the other man in the mask. Not _exactly_ like looking into a mirror but close.

“Suppose those tears in reality are real,” Erik says. There’s only one reason a masked man would be living down here. This has to be him in another universe. But somewhere lines got crossed and realities crossed. Something he had read about years ago, and always believed to be science fiction.

Cherik is keeping a respectable distance between them. These two are strangers, and his priority has always been to keep everyone at arm’s length until he knows what he’s dealing with.

Gustave, however, being a child, still doesn’t have quite a grasp of a filter from brain to mouth. “He wears a mask like you,” he says up to his father, loud enough to fill the cavernous space between them.

The thought now vocalized, Cherik can only chuckle and swipe his cape to the side. “All blatant observations aside, I must ask you to leave.” In the back of his mind, he is slowly putting things together, but he also wishes to be left alone with his darling Christine and not disturbed. Still, there is fascination. This man radiates familiarity. The child, however, does not.

“Erik,” the name finally passes Cherik’s lips, a small test to cement theory into reality, and the other man responds.

“I know,” he says, and Gustave just looks a bit bewildered by it all.

“Papa,” he says up to Erik, grabbing onto his sleeve and tugging a few times, and that makes Cherik freeze.

He wants to come closer, really look at the child, but he doesn’t feel comfortable doing so. Even if this is him from another timeline, he doesn’t trust this man who frankly looks like he could strangle someone with his bare hands.

Erik crouches down to Gustave’s level. “Do you truly believe in the fantastical, my boy? Believe in things you don’t quite understand?”

A bright grin, one he hadn’t seen since before Christine died, lit up his face. He truly was his son. “Of course, Papa. Things have always floated within my mind that have little explanation. They just are.”

Cherik’s eyes have widened a bit, not sure what to make of this. And before he can say anything more, from the Louis-Phillippe room comes the soft call of “Erik…?”

Both men turn their head at their name, and Cherik moves towards a blonde woman that emerges, sleep still heavy in her stance. “Darling,” he says when he reaches her side.

“Did I hear voices?” she mumbles before her gaze falls on their visitors. Another tall man in a mask and a young boy. Christine considers herself of sound mind, but she hasn’t seen anyone else since she was spirited away down here. She fears she may still be dreaming.

“Is… that supposed to be you?” Christine asks, brows furrowed.

Cherik nods. “We cannot explain it, dear. But this gentleman was just about to tell me what business he has here.”

“I lived here over ten years ago,” Erik began. “I’m here to make my peace with my past so I can focus on my present.” At that, he casts his gaze down at Gustave.

Christine frowns then. “Where is his mother?”

Erik sighs and Gustave’s face visibly drops.

“Oh… I see,” she says before she approaches the two and kneels to Gustave’s level. “You miss your Mama?”

The boy nods silently, a hand tightly fisted into the material of his father’s trousers.

She smiles: it’s the sun incarnate and Gustave’s grip lessens as she holds out a hand to him.

Erik takes in how serene this Christine looks: how unbothered by being five stories underground she is. It reminds him that he never got to taste domestic bliss with his Christine. Never woke up beside her; kissed her good morning. It was not meant for a monster such as he.

_Once upon another time…_

“What a brilliant child.” It’s all Cherik can offer as his Christine takes Gustave to show him some of the places just a bit deeper into the catacombs, but not out of sight.

A sad smile. “The mere brilliance of his mother,” Erik sighs. “So full of the joys of life and sings like an angel.”

Cherik is quiet a moment, watching Christine show Gustave a particularly intricate prop she had been enamored with earlier. “May I ask how it happened?”

“She was shot. By accident,” Erik says thickly. “It was all my fault.” While he had not brandished the gun, his actions had led to this outcome. He lets out a sob, a week’s worth of pent-up emotion spilling out. “Oh, my Christine… forgive me…”

Green eyes watch with compassion as the other Phantom pinches his eyes closed, inhales.

“Please believe her,” Erik finally says, voice wavering only slightly. Cherik stares, waiting for some kind of explanation. “If she tells you she loves you, believe her. Give her that benefit of the doubt. I would hate for you to make the same mistake I did.”

Their attention is both grabbed by Christine and Gustave laughing together and all Cherik can do is nod. “I do keep an open mind. Things are rather… delicate, as it were. We are still finding our footing.”

Erik nods. “That’s all you can do.” Another pause. “I didn’t know Gustave existed until two weeks ago. I left her: told her and the world I was dead. She had to look at him for ten years and be reminded of the man who walked away.” He supposes that having to watch Gustave grow on his own now, see his Christine in the parts of their son that are not him, is some sort of just reward.

“To err is to be human. And what are we if not human at our very core,” Cherik offers. He knows that this man beside him has dealt with the same thought processes he has— thought himself a demon. “Our Persephones see past what we truly are and humanize us. Worthy or not.”

Erik cannot help but feel understood then; for the first time in a very long time. He doesn’t feel alone anymore like he did ten years ago. Down here, raging in these catacombs like a monster. That isn’t him any longer. Perhaps he is human after all.

Once he and Gustave leave here, he will never return. He doesn’t belong down here any longer. And Erik hopes that one day, his other self will allow himself that small taste of light.


End file.
